


come ride with me to the distant shore

by fantasize



Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: CAR TRIP, College AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Humor, Road Trip, Snark, THIS SOUNDS LIKE A CRACK FIC BUT I STG ITS NOT, all i know is that i wanted them to bond in a car for a long ass time, idk what this idea is or how it came to me, light and i mean LIGHT angst, lots of banter, not really slowburn 4 obvious reasons, oh and i wanted to include devi lusting over nick jonas, the angst is a little laughable tbh, the car trip fic no one asked for, this is a oneshot, this was supposed to be 7k max but... uh oops went overboard ig, tried something new hehe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26113768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasize/pseuds/fantasize
Summary: Ben scoffs in bewilderment, a smile on his face. “You wanna meet Nick Jonas that bad?”“I’m only tolerating all this bullshit to see him,” Devi replies, tossing her hair behind her shoulder.“So you’d tolerate sitting here with me, who’s arguably the person you dislike most in the entire world, inside a cramped up car... for thirteen hours? Just to see Nick Jonas?” he asks, his eyebrows raised in suspicion.She sighs dreamily. “Anything for my boo.”Ben gags. “Again, David, he’s a married man. Have some decency.”“I told you, I don’t mind being the mistress!”when eleanor bails last minute, ben is in urgent need of an acquaintance to attend paul rudd's birthday party with. after he lies about a certain celebrity being invited, his annoying (but not-so-annoying) nemesis begs to come with him. the only problem is— it takes a thirteen hour long car ride to get there.ben wants to impress his heedless parents.devi just wants to meet nick jonas.[in alternate words: the benvi car trip fic no one asked for // title from 'life is a highway' by tom cochrane]
Relationships: Ben Gross & Devi Vishwakumar, Ben Gross & Fabiola Torres & Eleanor Wong, Ben Gross & Paxton Hall-Yoshida, Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar, Fabiola Torres & Devi Vishwakumar & Eleanor Wong
Comments: 18
Kudos: 63





	come ride with me to the distant shore

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh. let me explain:
> 
> this idea is a weird one, but i promise it'll make sense as you read. basically, ben's family is invited to paul rudd's birthday party because he's his dad's client (and also jewish), and he wants to bring a friend to try and show his parents that he isn't some friendless 'loser' like he was in high school but- honestly it'll all make sense as the story unfolds LMFAO.
> 
> why did i choose paul rudd? 1: he's jewish. 2: he's well liked but not like supersuper famous. 3: i just like paul rudd. i would have chosen andy samberg, but then ben and devi's nonchalance of it being his bday party wouldn't make sense, esp with ben since we see he has posters of andy all over his walls, and he's also the voice of his inner monologue, so, safe to assume he's a big fan lol. 
> 
> tbh i just wanted to write college devi and ben being forced to get along in a car for a long ass time, so this was created. also, i was sitting bored in a car for an hour when this idea popped up in my head, so maybe that's where it came from. i tried focusing more on writing better, snarkier dialogue exchanges this fic, since the mood of it is a lot more jovial and fun than my past works. i also tried not capitalizing dialogue tags, and it took a lot of getting used to but hehe it's grammatically correct so. that's that. also this is an au where they didn't grow up together (wanted to try something new so), just clarifying that.
> 
> this fic also has tonsss of pop culture references- restaurants, shows, celebrities. hope i don't get sued uh idrk how copyright stuff works but uhm anyways. it also has a tiny bit of cultural references as well (for devi's i mainly pulled them from my own life but yeahhh)
> 
> idk how university is like in america but i tried doing some research about dorms and shit like that but a lot of this stuff isn't factual so uh its very possible i got some parts of the college experience wrong :D *nervous laughter* 
> 
> oh! i made a tumblr :D @mellarkably i won't really be active there, with school starting up again and all but yee drop by with a hi if you'd like to :D btw, i'm rly not sure if this fic will be the last thing i put out in a while cause idk how much time i'll get with classes and stuff, but bc of miss corona my school experience is gonna be rly different so we'll see. we'll see.
> 
> anyways, have fun with this one lol... enjoy!! <3 (tw// mentions of vomiting - she has motion sickness, i took it from my own experiences with car rides lol. idk if this needs a tw but uh it's rly not as bad as it sounds)
> 
> ps: i love u paul rudd, literally one of my fav actors so just bc benvi don't rly care about u doesn't mean that i don't. paul rudd > nick jonas any day i will die on this boat

Ben wakes up with an atrocious headache.

His ass is also numb, completely without feeling, and when he rolls over, his face comes in contact with the cold, hard floor. It’s then that a distant groan comes from the other side of the room, but he doesn’t bother looking up.

Yesterday night was a blur. The memories he has of it aren't cohesive, but all Ben remembers is having one too many tequila shots from a large bottle that a friend of Paxton’s gifted him. If the headache isn’t enough evidence to point to a hangover, the ricochet of his nasty breath seals the deal.

They totally got wasted.

After a few minutes of basically making out with the floor, he pushes himself onto his feet, trudging over to Paxton’s bed with half-lidded eyes. 

“Paxton,” he speaks, nudging the other's cheek, and his head lolls lifelessly to the other side of the pillow. “Bro, get up.”

When he doesn’t respond, Ben pushes up and down on the small mattress, trying to shake him violently. To his horror, Paxton moans instead. 

“Ahh,” he mumbles, still deep in sleep. “That feels nice. Don’t stop.”

Ben crinkles his nose in disgust, and yanks the pillow from underneath Paxton’s head, whacking him with it repeatedly, until the lazy boy springs upwards. 

“What the _fuck,_ ” he spits out, eyes widened and bloodshot, and Ben places the cushion back onto its rightful place. “What— what was that? Why are you waking me up so early?”

“It’s 10 AM, Pax, _god._ Grow the fuck up.” Ben grumbles, before trailing over to his dresser table at the sound of two consecutive _dings_. He notes that he’s still in his blue boxers (he takes pride in the fact that it's Rick and Morty themed), and that only one of his feet have a sock on them, the other mysteriously missing. 

“Says the fifty year old grandpa,” Paxton retorts, ruffling his hair as he stares at his reflection in the mirror. Being his roommate for almost three years now has taught Ben that Paxton’s extremely aware of how handsome he is— a half Japanese Adonis, as Devi likes to say.

Nope. He’s not about to ruin his morning by thinking about her.

“No, but seriously, who the fuck still has their ringer on?” Paxton continues, and Ben rolls his eyes as he turns on his phone.

**Dad:** _Good morning kiddo! Super excited to meet this friend of yours tomorrow!_

He takes a seat on his untouched bed, a little in awe at seeing a text from his father out of all people. He's about to reply, until another notification slides its way onto the screen.

**Eleanor:** _I have some unfortunate news for you_

**Eleanor:** _I can’t come tomorrow_

His mouth goes dry. 

**Ben:** _WHAT_

**Ben:** _WHY :(_

**Eleanor:** _I’m sorry :((_

**Eleanor:** _But since it’s Spring Break, my Dad is picking me up to go visit my Mom in Costa Rica_

**Eleanor:** _I know, it’s sudden, and I already promised you that I would go. I usually wouldn’t bail on you like this, but it’s my mother_

**Eleanor:** _You know how I never get the chance to meet her, right?_

He pouts, swinging his feet back and forth. Eleanor’s mother is… well, if a list jotting down the worst mothers of the world existed, then she would probably be up there. She abandoned the girl when she was younger to pursue her dreams, but they ended up failing, and instead of returning home to her daughter, she decided to restart in Costa Rica instead. 

Ben’s supposed to be angry, but he knows he can’t hold this against her. He subconsciously brings his thumb to his bottom lip, gnawing on it nervously. 

“Hey, you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost or something,” Paxton asks, and Ben nods feverishly. 

**Ben:** _A_ _lright, I'm not mad_

**Eleanor:** _You totally are_

**Ben:** _Okay yeah, a little. I'm coming over to talk about this before you leave_

He shuts off his phone, marching up to their shared closet and digging through his side, to find good enough clothes to wear. 

“Spring break literally just started, we don’t have any classes, yet you’re bathing in the morning?” Paxton asks, looking up from his phone from where he's sprawled on his bed.

“Normal people bathe before eating lunch,” Ben retorts, as he picks out a light blue tee, but groans when he can’t find any casual pants. “And I’m going somewhere."

“Where? We already did the groceries yesterday…”

“I’m heading to the dungeon,” he answers, and Paxton squints his eyes in confusion. “Dorm 1709.” he clarifies, and the other mouths an _oh._

“I honestly don’t know why you hate going there so much. Your two best friends live there.” Paxton mutters, going back to scrolling through his phone.

Ben stills, staring at Paxton’s side of the closet. “It’s clearly not Fab and El that’s the problem. It’s Devi.”

Paxton lets his head fall onto the pillow with a thud, as he yawns tiredly. “Ah… you and your hatred for Devi. It’s funny how you say _I’m_ the one who needs to grow up, yet you still have a middle school rivalry with this feisty Indian chick.”

Ben scoffs in offense. “It's not _middle school_ drama. Not my fault that she’s Fab and El’s annoying roommate—”

“And friend,” Paxton adds on. 

“—friend, whatever. The only reason I’m forced to talk to her is because we have mutual friends. If Fab and El didn’t live with her, I wouldn’t be talking to her.”

“And this all started because she yelled at you for calling her David?”

“Okay, listen. It was the beginning of university, everyone’s first day at Yale. I was nervous! It’s not my fault that I misheard her name during orientation! And, by the way, the insults she threw at me were totally uncalled for.”

Paxton rolls his eyes. “What did she even say that was so terrible?’

“She called my Rolex fake, said I was 5 foot 2, and then proceeded to make fun of my last name.”

“What in the seventh grade...” Paxton teases, and Ben shoots him a glare. “I'm just saying... it's amazing that you guys have known each other for three years, you both are majoring in the same thing, you have mutual friends, yet you still haven't found a way to make amends.”

“Believe me, she only gets _more_ annoying during lectures. We argue way too much… I think our professor would have thrown us out already, if we weren’t the smartest in class.”

“I know, it’s all you ever complain about when you get back from classes. _Devi stole my answer, Devi's in my group, Devi distracted me from taking good notes, Devi argued with me today,_ blah blah blah— woah, why are you going through my side of the closet?”

Ben pulls out one of Paxton’s grey sweatpants, and smiles at him sheepishly. “All my casual pants are in the laundry basket, I only have jeans left. So I’m borrowing your grey sweats, okay?”

Before Paxton can either refuse or accept, Ben’s already off to the bathroom.

* * *

Ben arrives at Dorm 1709 with a poker face stitched on. He knocks once, and then twice, before hearing some shuffling from the other side. 

“Uh, sorry,” a very squeaky, fake, high pitched voice answers, and Ben can immediately tell it’s Devi. “Nobody is here, I’m their maid— er, housekeeper.”

He grits his teeth, kicking the door with his foot, and hears a yelp of surprise. “Real mature, Devi. Just open the _damn_ door already.”

After listening to her mutter a string of curse words under her breath, the door swings open. She’s standing in fluffy PJ's, her hair tied up in a messy bun that rests lopsided on the crown of her head, and the childish pattern on her clothes makes Ben want to laugh.

“Peppa Pig pajamas? Really?”

Devi rolls her eyes, sauntering over to the couch and launching herself onto it, as Ben shuts the door behind him. “What do you want? You’re ruining my morning.”

“I’m not here for you,” Ben mutters. “I’m here for El.”

“Oh. Thought you came here for me, considering how obsessed you are with my existence,” she quips, while muting the show that’s playing on the television screen.

He’s always been jealous of how spacious their room is, compared to the tight cubicle that is his. The reason it’s big, though, is so that three people can live here instead of two. There’s only five rooms like this in the entire Yale dormitory, and he’s still in awe at how the three managed to bag it.

“When do I ever come here for you?” Ben asks, incredulously, as he makes his way to the kitchen island. 

She scoffs. “It’s not like I ever come to your dorm for you either.”

Ben feels his jaw tighten. It’s no secret that she finds his roommate attractive— _sexy,_ even— and that the only reason she ever comes with Fab and El when they hang out at his room is so that she can talk to Paxton. 

(He doesn’t know why something deep at the pit of his stomach burns whenever she mentions him—)

“Oh please, I told you to drop it already. Almost every girl fawns over him, David. You’re just one in a million.”

“No, I'm not, because I’m best friends with Fab and El, who are, sadly, best friends with you, and you’re his roommate. So I have an advantage, because I know his roommate.”

“Basically, you’re using me to get with him.”

“You’re just mad because you know I’m fully capable of rocking his world—”

“Okay, see, you using the phrase _‘rock my world’_ is enough evidence to prove that you will _never_ have sex with him,” he says, grimacing.

“It’ll happen someday before I die.” Devi says, sighing dreamily. Ben’s headache only worsens.

“Shut up already, you’re making my head throb. Where’s the Tylenol?”

“Why would I tell you—” Devi freezes at his glare, and throws an arm over the back of the couch. “Second cupboard, to the left.”

Ben turns, and immediately searches for the white bottle. He sighs when he finds it, and pops it open, dropping a pill onto his tongue. He grabs the nearest metal cup and fills it with tap water, throwing his head back while gulping down the pill.

“Where’s El?” he asks, after swallowing.

“She’s not here.”

He gapes. “What?!” 

Devi groans. “She’s on a plane to Costa Rica with her dad, left at 6 in the morning. Woke me up early and everything,” Then, she raises an eyebrow curiously. “Why?”

“I needed to talk to her about tomorrow.”

“Oh, that dumb thing? Paul Rudd’s birthday party?”

He still can’t believe how nonchalant and bored she sounds about it. “Yes, _the_ Paul Rudd’s birthday party.”

She clicks her tongue, clearly not impressed. “I still can’t believe he invited your family to his birthday party just because your dad was his lawyer. How much money did he save Paul from losing in a lawsuit? A milly?”

“You’re just mad that you don’t get to meet celebrities,” he retorts, slamming the cup onto the counter. 

Actually, he couldn’t care less for Paul Rudd’s birthday, and not in an offensive way, because he does like his work, especially in _Clueless._ But the only reason he’s bothering to drive basically halfway across the country is to meet his parents, and to make a (hopefully) good impression on them, by bringing a friend to show off the new 'friend-making' skills he’s acquired in university. 

Most importantly, he just wants to sit at a table with them, and have dinner, no matter where it is. Yeah, it’s not at his house, and that's a bummer. But it's important that he at least seizes an opportunity to catch up with them when one comes his way. 

Paul Rudd's birthday is one— an opportunity. Perhaps the only opportunity he'll get in a long time, so he can't afford to mess it up.

“Yeah, I’m _so_ mad about not being able to meet middle aged white men and have it be my only rewarding personality trait,” she says, sarcastically. “What more is there to you other than your family’s wealth, rich boy?”

Her words rub salt into his wound— they’ve always been good at pushing each other's buttons, in that way. “You know nothing about me!” he shouts defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I think I know more than enough,” she says. “No, seriously, El lucked out. I mean, imagine having to spend a day with you, in a cramped up car, just to go to Paul Rudd's birthday party?”

Ben clenches his jaw, frustrated at how unfazed she is. It’s clear that she doesn’t care much for Paul Rudd, but he _wants_ to see her blood boil. He _wants_ to see her simmer with jealousy, at not being there. So, he thinks of the only celebrity he knows she has a liking for, a devious smile on his face. 

“Nick Jonas is going to be there.”

She gasps, immediately sitting up straight. “What?”

There's a voice in the back of his head that warns him about this being a terrible idea, but he irresponsibly ignores it. “Nick Jonas? One of the Jonas brothers? Yeah, he’s gonna be there.”

“Yeah right. Why the hell would Nick Jonas be there?” she scoffs, unconvinced. 

“He’s a distant friend of Rudd’s apparently,” he lies straight through his teeth, holding back a grin. When she still seems disbelieving, he scrambles to make it seem more real, adding on by saying, “Emphasis on _distant._ ” 

Her gaze finally seems foggy, and Ben suppresses a smug expression at his success. He decides to go back to sulking, as he sits on the revolving chair in front of the kitchen island and spins left, and then right.

“Ugh. I promised my dad that I’d show up with a friend, and if I show up alone, I’m just gonna look dumb. As if he doesn't already think I’m boring…”

“You really can't think of anyone else to take?” she finally speaks, her voice sounding constrained.

“No. Fab is planning to spend the entire week with Eve, Paxton is going home to visit his sister, and I have no other friends, so… I mean, I could ask Shira, but she’s my ex, and that’s just weird.”

“No one else?”

He then pushes off the table, twirling the chair to face her, and a growing pit of anxiety makes home in his stomach when he sees Devi wagging her eyebrows at him. 

_Oh no._ Why did he lie?

“Are you _kidding_ me? Why the hell would I take you?”

She folds her hands, propping her weight on her knees, and he’s shocked at the sight of seeing Devi _beg_ him for something. “Please… please, please, please…”

Ben scoffs, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Okay, _‘imagine having to spend a day with you, in a cramped up car, just to go to Paul Rudd's birthday party?'_ Your words, not mine.”

“I’ll deal with it! I just want to see the love of my life…” she exclaims dramatically, her arms flailing in the air. 

“Nick is a married man, David! God,” he exasperates, but then she bores her eyes into his, and it’s almost terrifying. “Do _not_ stare at me like that.”

“It’s tomorrow, right? Literally no one else is going to go with you. Come on, I’m right here…”

He doesn’t budge.

“If you don’t let me come with you, I’ll tell Mr. Grayson that you lied about not being able to submit your essay because you had a, so called, _medical emergency_.”

He pales, biting his bottom lip. Of course, she always has some sort of blackmail under her sleeve. He ponders over simply being honest with her, and letting her know that Nick Jonas, in fact, won’t be there, but the words die out on his tongue.

That’s the thing about lying. You lie once— you’re forced to churn out eighteen other lies to save face.

Plus, he really does need someone to bring so that he can hopefully win over his parents' love. Even if it means he has to spend thirteen hours with his nemesis in a car, as he drives from Yale’s campus in Connecticut, to a big ass hall all the way in Chicago. 

He purses his lips as he lets out a puff of air. “Fine.”

* * *

He storms into her room at eight in the morning, with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

He’s already dressed up in a long sleeve white shirt, and black track pants (he’s planning to change into his formal attire when he gets there, which is why he's bringing a bag to stuff them in there for now), so he’s not impressed when he sees Devi still packing her things, unruly hair and all. 

“I told you to be ready _by_ 8 AM,” Ben seethes, and she rolls her eyes while yanking the zipper shut. “If we have to be there by 9 PM, we should have left minutes ago. Why are you still in your pajamas?”

She glares at him pointedly. “I’m changed already,” she says, posing in her grey tee and black sweatpants. “What? This is my casual attire. You said we could change when we get there, right? I packed my best red dress… have to look good for Nick Jonas.”

The taste in his mouth sours at the mention of the celebrity, who will most definitely _not_ be there, as he replies with, “You’d think one would try harder if they were trying to impress their childhood crush.”

She grabs her comb, brushing through tangled strands aggressively. “I don’t have to try hard to impress someone.”

“Said no one ever.”

“And this is coming from you?”

“You know I’m good-looking, David. You just won’t admit it.”

Devi rolls her eyes. “So full of yourself, like always. Your ego is bigger than your dick.”

He chokes back a gasp, partly taken aback, but it only takes seconds for him to recover. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asks, a sly smirk on his face. A growl slips through her lips, but the pink tint that grazes her cheeks is unmistakably prominent.

As he saunters out of her bedroom and to the main living room, the ridiculousness of it all starts to sink in. He’s embarking on a crazy long drive with... Devi? Someone who’s always bickering and bantering with him, someone who’s always getting under his skin, someone who _hates_ him?

What in the world is going on?

(He can’t lie, bickering with her makes every nerve in his body pulsate, it sends adrenaline through his veins, and it makes him feel alive—)

“Ready to go?”

He turns around to see Devi, who has her backpack hanging off one shoulder and the room keys dangling from her free hand. 

Ben gulps. “Yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

The first few minutes after they get on the road is… awkward, to say the least.

Neither of them bother talking, and they let the GPS break the silence instead, as it booms out loud instructions for Ben to follow. Devi scrolls through her phone quietly, and he just drives.

It gets boring real fast. 

Especially for Ben, who isn't able to let his phone entertain him. So, he turns on the radio, switching to a random station. 

_“I’m gonna take my horse to the old town road,”_ booms through the car speakers, and Devi immediately groans loudly in complaint. “Shut it off!” she yells, shaking her head like a toddler. 

He doesn’t like the song, not at all, but it’s in his nature to bother the girl as much as he can, so he turns the volume up, singing along with it. 

“I got the horses in the back! Horse tack is attached,” he yells synchronously with the singer, southern accent and all. “Hat is matte black, got the boots that’s black to match!”

“Ben,” she growls, but it only encourages him more. 

“Riding on a horse, ha! You can whip your Porsche—”

“I’m about to whip _your_ Porsche, the very Porsche we're sitting in right now, to absolute _pieces_ if you don’t turn the radio off!”

He continues to ignore her, until she jams a button, changing the station. 

_“99.5 FM, welcome back to Retro Tuesday! This year's spring climate is absolutely wonderful! Flowers blooming early, no sight of snow. Ray, do you know what this means?”_

The other radio jock mutters a very disgruntled _‘nope’._

_“It’s the season for love! But Ray, what is love?”_

In a very predictable turn of events, the classic song of the same name plays, and Devi scoffs, crossing her arms as she stares out the window. 

_“What is love? Baby don’t hurt me… don’t hurt me… no more.”_

His fingers tap on the steering wheel subconsciously, as he switches on his indicator when he stops at a streetlight, waiting to turn left. The clicking of the indicator matches the BPM of the song, and he can’t help but bob his head to it. 

He can hear Devi bouncing her foot to the beat of the song, and he suppresses a grin, glad at not being the only one. 

“What is love?” he whispers quietly, in terrible tune, as he turns, switching the indicator off. 

“Baby don’t hurt me,” she finishes for him, and they exchange dorky glances with one another. It’s soft, and playful, unlike any other way they’ve looked at each other in the past.

“I don’t know, why you’re not fair, I give you my love but you don’t care,” they both sing together, and their voices seem to get progressively louder with each passing lyric. Her voice is much more pleasant to the ears than his, he notices, and so he sings a little quieter than her, to let her take the spotlight.

“So what is right?” Ben sings, tilting his head towards Devi as she joins in with, “And what is wrong?”, holding an invisible microphone to her mouth. 

“Gimme a sign!” they shout out, and he can’t help but smile at how excited Devi looks. She dances to the chorus, still seated, doing weird motions with her hands, and Ben follows her moves with his free hand, bobbing his head up and down. 

It’s fun, singing to a retro classic with Devi. It makes him wonder why they’ve never done something like this before— well, El _had_ thrown that one karaoke party, but he avoided Devi that entire night. 

What’s a little scary, is that he enjoys this just as much as he enjoys getting on her nerves, if not even more. It’s terrifying because he’s _not_ supposed to like this, he’s _not_ supposed to like singing songs with her because she’s _not_ his friend. 

Ben’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost runs a red light, and so he tells himself to snap out of it and let loose, singing his heart out instead.

_It’s just a one time thing_ , he thinks. 

One time thing.

* * *

An hour into the ride, Devi starts to whine. 

“I have to pee!”

Ben sighs, thudding back onto the headrest as he drives on a bumpy road. Every time the vehicle rolls over a bump, she clutches her pelvis area in panic, and it’s a little too amusing for him to watch. 

“Not my fault you didn’t empty out your bladder before despite knowing you'll be in this car for thirteen hours,” he mutters, and she shoves his shoulder.

“I didn’t need to pee then.”

“Well, too bad. Deal with it until we get to the nearest McDonald's for breakfast.”

“That’s like, another fifteen minutes away!”

“And are you like, five?” Ben mocks her tone. 

“Shut up.”

He thins his lips into a straight line. “Have you ever been to Niagara falls?”

She blinks in confusion. “Why is that important right now?”

“I guess you haven’t. Well, since I have,” he continues with a conniving smirk. “I can tell you all about how beautiful it is. The waterfall is so lovely to watch… the way the _water_ flows so effortlessly into the pool of _water_ at the bottom.”

She grimaces. “Ben…” 

“It sucks that Canada has the better view. I mean, I’d want to get the best view of the divers as they plunge into the blue _water_. Speaking of _water,_ am I the only one that’s thirsty—"

“Ben,” she grits out. “I know what you’re doing. I’m not dumb.”

He ignores her, stepping on the brakes slowly when they approach a red light, but then he purposely slams on it so that the car jumps up, and it elicits a yell from Devi. 

“You _ass,_ ” she grumbles under her breath, as she pulls the seat belt so it’s not pressing on her bladder, and Ben snorts. “When I piss all over your car, you won’t be laughing then!”

“If you piss all over my car, number one, I’ll make you clean it, and number two, you’ll have to deal with the stench just as much as me for the next twelve hours. Also, do you really want to smell like urine when you meet Nick Jonas?”

At this, Devi violently thuds her head against the headrest repeatedly, as she shuts her eyes. 

She remains in this stiff position until they reach McDonald's, and Ben pokes her shoulder in the effort of stirring her, to which she flinches at. 

“We’re here—” 

Before Ben can finish his sentence, she’s already jogging out of his car, and straight inside the restaurant, her only destination being the bathroom. 

* * *

Three hours into the ride, Devi's phone is propped up on the dashboard, as she watches an episode of _The Office._

“I never took you to be an Office kind of girl,” he remarks, while double-checking whether it’s safe to turn. His hands and legs are getting kind of tired from driving for so long, and it's worrying, because they’re not even halfway there yet.

“I’m not. I just enjoy the quick paced humor sometimes,” she replies, more focused on watching Steve Carell declare bankruptcy. “Besides, you watch _Rick and Morty._ I mean, come on, how worse could it get?”

Ben scoffs. “ _Rick and Morty_ won a Critics Choice Award for Best Animated Series. What has _The Office_ won?”

Devi laughs dryly. “It’s won twenty awards, Gross. Incomparable.”

“Okay, okay. Fine. You win. But I enjoy _The Office_ too, so I’m not mad.”

“But I clearly have more taste than you in television,” she quips, pausing the episode to converse with Ben.

(He ignores the way his heart skips a beat at the way she’s actually willing to talk to him now—)

“How so? You watch _Riverdale_ unironically.”

She giggles like a child, placing a hand over her mouth. “It’s my guilty pleasure!” she yells, muffled by her palm. 

The corners of his mouth tug up as well, at how happy she sounds. “Anyways. How did you engulf that burger so fast in the restaurant?”

She scoffs in a boasting manner. “ _Easy-peesy_. I could eat that thing in five seconds.”

“That's not eating, that's practically _inhaling_.”

“Same thing.”

“Not really. I doubt that’s healthy. You should chew your food before you swallow.”

“I was just hungry!”

“Yeah, me too, but I took around ten minutes to eat that whole thing.”

“Ten minutes is far too long!” she exclaims, and then she pauses, staring at him with an unreadable expression. It’s only second before it fades away, and morphs into the usual grimace she has around him. 

“Do you think Nick Jonas likes girls who wear red?”

Ben holds back a gag. “Why would I know what Nick Jonas likes?”

She turns, leaning her head against the dashboard. He bites back a remark about her position being extremely unsafe, because, well, why does he care so much? It’s not like he's ever worried about her getting hurt. And why should he? He doesn't care about her. 

(That’s an obvious lie—)

“Do you think I look good in red?”

He stiffens, and glues his eyes onto the road in front of him, as he thinks. Red is a color that compliments anyone, but on Devi, it suits her extraordinarily well. The only time he’s seen her wear a red dress was at Eleanor's birthday party, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t stare at her the entire night.

He remembers wallowing over the sad fact that even his high school girlfriend, Shira (who was hot _as hell_ ) had never managed to make him feel anything when she wore red, as much as Devi did. And it’s still unsettling to think about, especially because she’s not his girlfriend, or even his friend. 

But, maybe, if an outsider squinted, they’d seem like friends. 

Kinda-sorta-maybe friends.

“Uh, decent. Yeah.” He gulps, nervously, before she sighs. 

“I’m crazy for trying to get with a married man, amen’t I?”

“Wait, you were— don’t tell me you’re _serious_ about trying to seduce him?” he sputters, because it’s unfortunately very in character for Devi to set her mind on something as crazy as this. 

“I don’t mind being the mistress,” she teases, before she resumes watching _The Office,_ and Ben can only hope that she’s joking.

* * *

When noon strikes, Devi splays her legs across the dashboard, eliciting a very frustrated reaction from the disgruntled driver. 

“Devi, for _fuck’s_ sake,” Ben grits out, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Get your dirty ass feet off my dashboard!”

She shrugs, and bends backwards to pull out a small bag of Lays chips from her backpack. “Or what, pipsqueak?” 

Ben reaches his free hand towards her legs, trying to swat if off like he'd shoo away a fly, but she doesn’t budge. “This is a Porsche, David. Don’t get it dirty!”

“My feet don’t even smell, _god,_ you complained about the same thing that time I came to your dorm and sat crisscross on your bed.”

He freezes. 

Actually, that day, Ben returned from one of his afternoon classes, just to see Devi and Paxton talking. He still doesn’t know why his blood boiled at the sight— it’s confusing, really, because it shouldn’t matter to him. But a part of him was admittedly a little miffed, and so he managed to get her to leave by complaining about her feet on his bed, even though he could have given less of a fuck about her dirtying his mattress.

“It’s not about your feet stench, it’s about basic manners. I don’t know why you put up such a well mannered facade in front of guys like Paxton, but when it comes to me, you’re all over the place.”

“That’s because I have no one to impress,” she answers, opening the Lays with an ear-splitting _pop._ “I don’t _have_ to impress you.”

He smirks. “Earlier, you said you didn’t have to try hard to impress anyone.”

She sighs, crunching on a chip. “Usually I don’t, but… for guys like Paxton and Nick Jonas, I have to.”

“Do you really like Paxton?” he blurts out, and watches as she stiffens. 

After a few beats of silence, she clears her throat. “No,” she begins. “If I’m being honest, I just think I’m obsessed with the idea of him.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs. “Like, he’s handsome. Charming. Charismatic. But when I have an actual conversation with him, it makes me realize that he's a human too. A human that I think I’d be better off as friends with.”

“So then why do you continue to go after him?” Ben asks, and Devi finally takes her feet off the dashboard. 

“I only go after him when you’re around,” she admits, and he doesn’t know what quite to make of that. “Don’t ask me why, though. I still don’t know the answer to that. Guess I just like being annoying when you're around.”

“You hate me that much?”

“I don’t hate you,” she admits, voice small and less snarky. Ben can feel her gaze burning holes into the side of his face, and so he keeps his focus on the road ahead, rather than sparing her a glance. “You don’t?” he queries, disbelieving. 

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t. You’re just annoying.”

“Me? Annoying?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Coming from _you?_ ”

“You were the one who called me David on the first day of orientation!”

“And _you_ were the one that misunderstood my civil intentions,” he retorts. 

She throws her head back as she drops three chips into her mouth at once. “Listen, I’ve grown up with people making fun of my last name. Sorry that I’m so defensive,” she says, after swallowing the food in her mouth, and Ben feels guilt wash over him. 

“I didn’t know that. I swear that I didn't have any harmful intentions with making it my nickname for you. I just thought it would be funny to call you David, since it was how we... well, got off.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Then, she smiles at him, lopsided and a little silly. “I guess I just got even more angry when you became friends with Fab and El. Because they were my friends, you know? I grew up with them. I didn't want a plus one in our friend group.”

_Oh,_ he mouths, everything starting to make a little more sense, especially the way she was extremely hostile to him the first time he’d come to their dorm, to help them move their stuff in.

“And you’re also the guy who argues with me in Criminal Law every single day,” she asserts, lightheartedly. 

He finally turns to look her in the eyes, and not through the mirror, mirroring her grin. “It’s fun bickering with you, though,” he confesses. “But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

She pinches her fingers at the left corner of her lip, and drags it to the other corner, mimicking the zipping of her mouth, and then twists and throws an invisible key out the window. He can’t help but let a laugh slip at her weird antics. 

"Do you really not like the nickname 'David'? If it makes you uncomfortable then I can stop—"

"No," she interrupts him, shaking her head. "Don't."

Ben pauses, before nodding. "Okay."

“Want the last chip?” she offers, waving the processed potato delicacy in front of him, and he takes it from her with no hesitation. 

“Is this your version of an olive branch?” he asks, after eating it, and she shrugs, crinkling the bag with her fingers absentmindedly. 

“Perhaps,” is all she says, before going silent.

* * *

At the fifth hour, Devi starts to groan. 

It doesn’t bother Ben at first— he manages to tune out her various moans, and grumbling, but then it gets tiresome. 

“Devi,” he starts, sparing her a glance. “Something wrong?”

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she hunches over, clenching her stomach, and rocking back and forth. Ben doesn’t know what to do— he’s more concerned about what’s happening to her.

Does she need a washroom break? Is she hungry? Does she have some disease that she’s never told him about? Is she dying?

No, no, no. She _cannot_ die in his car.

“Are you good?” he pries once more, and her head whips up as she sits straight, back hitting against the seat. 

“What do you think, moron?” she lashes out.

Ben blinks in confusion, and then it quickly morphs into annoyance. “Sorry for even showing an ounce of concern for you,” he retorts sarcastically, and brings his attention back to the road as he follows the GPS’ instructions. 

After a few beats of silence, Devi grips his forearm, and it’s so sudden that Ben almost misses a lane switch.

“Ben,” she whispers. “Stop the car.”

He widens his eyes. “What?”

“Stop. The. Car!”

“I can't stop the car here! We’re about to go on the highway!” 

“Just stop the fucking car or I’ll cut your head off!” Devi yells, and at this point, he’s a little terrified that she actually _might_ be dying, so he takes the right lane, passing the highway, and stops at a curb nearby. 

Once he takes the key out and the car engine stops running, the girl opens the passenger door, and hunches over. 

Then, she throws up. 

Ben can’t figure out what he’s pissed more about— the fact that she made him panic for nothing, or the fact that she could have just puked in the Lays chip bag they’d emptied minutes ago, instead of making him derail their route.

The sounds she makes while barfing are quite agonizing, and after a while, Ben manages to bravely peer at her, trying to make sure she's, well, _alive._ Strands of hair constantly fall down as she tries to tuck them behind her ear, but eventually she gives up, letting them hang around.

So, Ben leans over, and bunches her hair up with his hands, holding it behind her neck to lessen her struggle. 

She pauses for a while at the sudden gesture, but doesn’t look back, and continues to stay hunched over. 

“Do you want a tissue?” Ben asks. 

She nods. 

He reaches into his compartment case with his free hand and pulls out a tissue from an old Kleenex box, holding it out, and she takes it from him with shaking fingers. Once she’s done with her whole vomiting tirade, she cleans her mouth, and tosses the tissue into the waste plastic bag he’d hung up at the start of the car ride, shutting the door as his hand lets go of her thick locks.

It’s then he can finally see how pale and blanched out she looks. 

“I have motion sickness,” she weakly explains, her eyes fluttering shut as she lays her head against the headrest. “I should have brought an extra plastic bag, or taken some Pepto Bismol this morning. My bad.”

He bites back a quip about her being right, that she should have prepared better, because annoying her isn’t the best choice of action to take right now. “So, long drives aren’t your thing?”

She smirks half-genuinely, looking at Ben with droopy eyes. “I can handle two hours in a car, but five hours is asking a lot from me.”

“Wait, so… now—”

“Now I’m set. Usually, if I throw up once, I’m good for the rest of the ride. No matter how long.”

“You embarked on a thirteen hour long car ride knowing you have motion sickness?”

“Yeah. It’s whatever,” she says, shrugging. 

Ben scoffs in bewilderment, a smile on his face. “You wanna meet Nick Jonas that bad?”

“I’m only tolerating all this bullshit to see him.” Devi replies, tossing her hair behind her shoulder.

“So you’d tolerate sitting here with me, who’s arguably the person you dislike most in the entire world, in a cramped up car... for thirteen hours? Just to see Nick Jonas?” he asks, his eyebrows raised in suspicion. 

She sighs dreamily. “Anything for my boo.”

Ben gags. “Again, David, he’s a married man. Have _some_ decency.”

“I told you, I don’t mind being the mistress!” 

Deep down, he feels a little more guilty and anxious, about the fact that he’s _lied._ Devi is an A-class hothead if he’s ever seen one, and when she finds out that Nick Jonas being at this party is some fib he pulled straight out of his ass… it won’t be pretty. 

Whatever. He decides he’ll deal with that later. 

“Where do you want to have lunch?” he asks, while starting up the car. 

“Your call, Gross,” she replies, before dozing off. 

* * *

He ends up stopping at a nearby Indian restaurant, in hopes of making Devi hate him less. 

To his unfortunate surprise, when he pokes her awake, she frowns instead. 

“An Indian restaurant? Seriously?” she grumbles, as he waits for her to get out of the car, leaning against the hood. 

“That isn’t the reaction I was expecting. You should be happy that I managed to find any decent restaurant serving Indian cuisine in the middle of nowhere!” Ben exclaims, waving around to prove his point. They really are in the middle of nowhere. 

Devi sighs. “It’s just, I eat Indian food all the time at home.”

“You haven’t been home in a year. All you eat now is fast food, and occasionally salads, when you, _‘feel like being skinny’_ , whatever the hell that means. Don’t you miss eating this stuff?”

She pauses, biting her bottom lip, before shrugging. “I guess. But do _you_ like this stuff, Gross?”

“Yeah,” he replies, grinning. “I’m a big fan of Indian cuisine.”

“No, you’re not,” she retorts, scoffing. He shuts the car door for her. “Remember that one time you came over and I made _idli vada_ for breakfast? And you took one sip of the _sambar_ and fucking cried?” 

He narrows his eyes at her, watching as she throws her head back while laughing. Although he reminds himself that he should be furious at her teasing, he struggles to hold back a smile at the way her eyes are crinkled up. “It's not my fault I’m white! Plus, I can like Indian food and still have a low spice tolerance. Honestly, I think I have a higher spice tolerance than most people.”

"Oh really?" she quirks an eyebrow, smirking at him devilishly. "Well, I'm gonna make you eat spicy food for lunch, to see whether you're bluffing."

"I'd like to see you try," he deadpans, trying to warn her. She blows a raspberry at him childishly, before walking into the restaurant. 

It’s when they’re sitting at the table and the waiter asks them what they want, that Ben feels the full weight of what he’s done. 

Devi smirks, trailing a finger down the menu. “I’ll have _Bisi Bele Bath._ And for drinks… water is fine.”

Then she turns to look at Ben, sliding the menu over the table to his side. He stares at it, dumbfound, not knowing which one to choose. He's only ever really eaten at restaurants with primarily North Indian cuisine, not South Indian, and so trying to pinpoint which one looks the least spicy is challenging, to say the least.

She seems to understand, and clears her throat. “He’ll take whatever I’m having.”

The waiter jots the simple order down with his pencil, nodding. “Nothing else, Ma'am?”

Devi shakes her head. “Nothing else.”

Once the waiter leaves, Ben lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

"This dish doesn't have a Tamil origin, it's from another state in South India. But my Mom used to cook it sometimes. It's really good," she pauses, a bit of concern in her gaze. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he answers, pursing his lips while eyeing the price next to it on the menu. “Is, uh, _Bisi Bele Bath_ spicy?”

He knows he's butchered _the fuck_ out of that pronunciation when Devi snorts. “Not for me,” she relents, shrugging. “But for you, maybe.”

He scoffs, a surge of confidence shooting up his spine at the snarkiness in her gaze. She’s challenging him, challenging her idea of him, and this is just another one of their competitions. To see whether he's right about his spice tolerance being higher than average, or if he's a fatuous fraud.

Unfortunately, when the food arrives, and Ben scoops up the orange mixture of rice, vegetables and other spices that are unknown to him, the sheer smell is enough to sting his nostrils. 

Devi looks at him with cartoonish eyes, clearly amused at watching his spoon hover in front of his mouth without gaining entry. “Ben, I was kidding. It’s not spicy, just hot,” she mumbles with a mouthful of food, and he bites back a remark about her terrible table manners. 

He decides to eat it like he’d take off a bandaid— quick, fast and all at once. 

It’s not a good idea, because once he shoves it in there, he almost chokes. 

Actually, he _does_ choke, and his eyes well up as his face goes red. Devi hands him a glass of water while laughing (her giggles are supposed to piss him off, but for some reason, it doesn’t), and he grasps it without hesitation, gulping down half of the clear liquid in one shot.

He waits for the spice to kick in, and after a few seconds, he starts to feel a slight sting on his tongue, but it’s not nearly as bad as he thought it would be.

“You’re right, it’s not that spicy,” he mumbles, taking another sip from his glass. Then, he smirks. "See? I told you I can handle spice."

“You’ve diluted the spice with water,” she states, pointing to the cup in his hand. “Doesn't count. Try again. Except this time, maybe don’t shove it in all at once.”

He huffs, before slowly eating another spoonful. It’s undeniable that it tastes good, delicious even, and it makes his taste buds all excited, but then everything starts to burn and—

_Oh._ She was right. 

Ben reaches over for his glass, but it’s in Devi’s hands before he can even blink. She chugs it down, and he watches helplessly as some water drips down her chin. 

“David,” he grits out, clenching his fist. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“No, you won’t,” she replies, so surely that it irks him. “Join me in the car after you’re done.”

She sets the empty glass down, and it’s then Ben notices her plate is already squeaky clean. “Wait,” he begins, gripping her arm from where he’s seated. “You’re making me pay? We're not splitting the bill?”

“Isn’t the _man_ supposed to pay?”

“Hey, come on. I know you’re above such medieval ideologies.”

“You’re the rich one out of us two,” Devi yanks her arm out of his hold, but her expression is still playful. “Is that how poorly you treat the girls you take on dates?”

He feels something weird catch in his throat, and he hates the way that now, instead of his tongue stinging from the spice, his _fingers_ burn wherever her skin once was. She’s just joking, she always is, but for some reason, his stomach churns at the suggestive jibe.

“We’re not _on_ a date,” Ben responds, a little shakily, and that’s when the playfulness in Devi’s gaze disappears. 

“Of course not, dummy,” she retorts, and struts out of the restaurant without looking back. 

* * *

Devi hums along with the Ed Sheeran song playing on the radio, drumming her fingers against the inside of the car door.

Every now and then, he glances to look at her, and she looks so peaceful, so _concentrated_ while trying to remember the lyrics, that he wishes he got to witness her in this state more often. 

Whenever she messes up the words, her forehead crinkles and she pouts, blaming the song for being wrong rather than admitting she’s the one who’s mistaken, and it’s so ridiculously Devi-like of her that it makes Ben grin. 

Whenever a flash of doubt passes through his mind about what he's doing, he tells himself that he’s only paying this much attention to her because he’s bored, and has nothing else to do. 

(He’s always been paying attention to her though, ever since he’s learnt she’s not just some despicable hothead, and that she actually has feelings, which was only months into their first year at Yale—)

She reaches forward, twisting the knob controlling the volume clockwise, and the guitar goes from being a slight hum in the background to grossly disturbing. 

“David,” Ben groans. “Turn it down.”

“Why?”

“I can’t hear the GPS if Ed Sheeran is singing over it!” he yells over the music, while bending towards the location device so that he can hear his next instruction. 

Ben's admittedly a little more impatient than usual, since passing through and paying two tolls was a little exhausting.

“There’s literally a visual diagram of the road, showing you what lane to take!” she yells back, with the same amount of volume.

“Why don’t you try driving then, huh? If you think it’s so _easy,_ ” he retorts, clenching his jaw, and Devi scoffs, shaking her head. “That’s asking too much from me. If I ever willingly drive this car just to make your life easier, then consider us friends.”

“So you’re insinuating that you’ll never be behind this wheel,” he says, more like a statement than a question, and Devi nods. 

“Correct.”

“Okay, seriously, turn the volume down or I’ll throw you out of this car,” he threatens, and when the stubborn girl doesn’t budge, he adds on with, “I won’t hesitate.”

She looks him up and down, before turning the knob counter clockwise, and she thuds her back against the seat, grumbling like a toddler having a temper tantrum. 

“You won’t throw me out of a car,” she whispers. “That’s not something you’d do.”

“How are you so sure of yourself?” he asks, while turning his head to see whether it’s safe to take a right turn. 

“You’re not the type to do that, no matter how annoying you are. You won’t kill anyone.”

_Oh. Huh._

“At least say thank you, _gosh._ ” Devi sneers, huffing as she crosses her arms. 

“You’re asking me to thank you… for assuming that I don’t have the mind of a murderer?” Ben asks, half amused, half baffled. 

She rolls her eyes, and from the corner of his peripheral view, he swears the ghost of a smile lingers on her lips. “Well, I would’ve assumed you were one, if you didn’t make friends with Fab and El.”

“Why? Is it my Rolex?”

“No,” she clicks her tongue. “It’s the printed shirts. I mean, what sane person wears clothes with flamingos on them?”

“Hey!” he shouts defensively, but he’s laughing. “It was way worse in middle school and high school. Ugh, I wish the private school I went to had uniforms. You should have _seen_ the shit I wore.”

Devi chuckles, and it’s all honey-like with a dabble of rasp. “No, it’s good my eyes were saved from that terrible sight.” Then, she quiets, and her gaze drops to her lap. “High school was not a great time for me,” she mutters, and Ben notices the change in tone. 

He knows that high school wasn’t easy for her— he’s heard stories from Fab and El about how she’d cried and poorly dealt with grief over her father’s sudden death, about how it was like rolling her around in a wheelchair, but he’s never conversed with her about it directly. 

The closest he’s gotten to seeing her vulnerable was the day of Fabiola’s birthday, a few months after orientation. Up till then, his perception of Devi was solely nemesis based— he didn’t like her, or sympathize with her at all. 

But that moment, when he spotted her holed up in her room, peeking through the crack in her door as he watched her sob into her arms while mumbling her father’s name over and over again… it made Ben realize that she was much more than a nemesis. It made him see her as _human._

He never stopped bickering with after that, but their banter became more playful than purely hateful. And although he’s painfully aware that Devi still has no idea about him seeing her cry that day when no one else had, he figures she doesn’t need to know. It would only make things weird, and they don't handle _weird_ things well.

“Isn’t it crazy that we grew up ten minutes away from each other? If I didn’t go to a private school, we would have been in the same classes together,” he says, trying to change the topic, and to his delight, Devi perks up.

“Please, I can’t even imagine it. The mere thought is terrifying… we argue so much during lectures, but in high school there's so many more opportunities for students to talk to one another. I mean, we would have probably eaten each other’s heads off before we could even make it to university.”

He pretends like he doesn’t wonder, doesn't ponder about how different their lives would be if it were intertwined from the start. Would things be different now if he grew up with her since they were little kids not knowing how to double-knot shoelaces, if he competed with her at science fairs, if he knew her family… if he was there when tragedy struck her life?

“I’d definitely get along with Fab and El though,” he boasts, but Devi laughs dryly. 

“No way,” she tuts. “Honestly, I’m still shocked that they like you enough to be friends with you.”

“What’s so shocking about someone liking my presence?”

She stares at him, batting her eyelashes as if it’s obvious information. “Literally everything about you. Your ego, your sardonic way of talking, your wealth, your—”

“All the things you listed out are applicable to you as well,” he pauses, squinting. “Well, except the wealth part.”

She smacks his arm, and for a split-second his grip almost escapes the wheel. “Shut up.”

Ben sighs, massaging his temples with his free hand. “Fabiola and I are friends because I helped her overcome a conflict with Eve over text the first day of orientation. Eleanor and I are friends because we bonded over how much we like the Lit course. Also, I helped you guys move in, which sealed the deal. Of course, you had to be all stuck up about it, and stole a bunch of boxes from my hand just to show off, and then you tripped as everything went flying—”

“This is _not_ about me!” she exclaims, cheeks tinted red. 

“Fab, El and I just have a lot of things in common. We hit it off,” he says, and turns to look at her. “You’re friends with them, I’m friends with them. That’s just how it is.”

“I’ve been friends with them since we were young,” she mumbles, fiddling with her fingers. “We grew up together. But in freshman and sophomore year… I messed up. Really bad.”

“What do you mean?” he asks bravely. Expecting no response, he shifts his attention to the road. But then, she clears her throat, sitting up straight.

“When my Dad died, I treated them really poorly. I lashed out at them, I argued with them… I even missed Fab's coming out because I had a tantrum and refused to show up at her house for a hangout session,” she speaks, honestly, and the regret in her voice is unmistakably real. “I wanted to make things better, become a better friend when we went to Yale. I think that’s why I was so cold towards you when we first met at orientation… because you hit it off with them so well. I was scared you’d take my place, because, well, I wasn’t doing a good job at keeping it.”

Ben shuts up, his mind blanking a little at her shocking willingness to be a little more vulnerable in front of him.

“Like I already said, I was miffed you got my name wrong, but it wasn’t the primary reason I was so cold towards you when you were helping us move in. My insecurity was. And then, your constant bickering with me during lectures kinda sealed the deal on this rivalry, so.”

He gapes. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she groans, and then slumps down the seat. “Didn’t we have this conversation already?”

Ben pauses to think, and then shrugs. “I think we did, before you gave me the last chip from the bag as a peace offering.”

She snorts. “Peace offering. Ah, we’re crazy, aren’t we?”

His forehead crinkles in confusion. “Crazy?”

“I meant, in the eyes of Fab and El—” she speaks, while pushing herself back up. “—we’re crazy. They must be so annoyed by our constant bickering.”

“Well, they should be thankful they’re not studying law with us, then. I think we’re astronomically more annoying in a learning environment than anywhere else.”

“At least we’re self aware,” she jokes, as her lips tug up into a smile. Ben mirrors her expression, and they stay silent for a while, letting the radio fill the car with noise. 

_“_ _I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways. Maybe it's all part of a plan… I'll just keep on making the same mistakes, hoping that you'll understand…”_

“You know, Ben,” Devi looks at him with softness in her gaze, and it’s something he’s not used to. 

(He’s always been fond of the fire that burns bright in her brown orbs, but this muted, earthy gentleness that’s laced in her eyes right now, is something that he thinks he can grow fond of _much_ faster—)

“You’re not as bad as I thought you were.”

_“Take a turn on Highway 401,”_ the GPS speaks, and Ben gulps nervously, tearing his eyes off her and gluing them back onto the road. 

_You’re not half as bad to talk to either, David,_ remains unspoken, and so it dies out on his tongue, like every other nice thing he’s ever wanted to tell her in the three years of knowing her.

* * *

“Ben,” she drawls, while sitting on the hood of the car, as the boy pushes some buttons on the fuel dispenser. 

“Have you ever had sex?”

He chokes on his spit, and his immediate reaction is to whip his head around, praying that no one is close enough to overhear their conversation. “What the fuck? Do you have any self-conscious at _all?_ ” he asks, turning around to look at her. 

She swings her legs nonchalantly, and a _pang_ noise reverberates every time she bumps the shins of her legs into the front of the car. “Are you a virgin? Like, for real?”

He rolls his eyes, in an attempt to play off the obvious blush creeping up his face. “No, I’m not a virgin,” he replies in a hushed tone, while yanking the gas pump out of its holder. 

She gasps, shaking her head. “No way. You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”

“Simple. You don’t want me to make fun of you.”

He grumbles curse words under his breath as he pushes the gas pump into the car, holding it in place as the liquid travels through. “I did it once, with my ex-girlfriend. We broke up before graduation, though.”

He expects her to smirk, but she pales instead. “With that girl? The Insta obsessed hottie?”

“Yes,” Ben nods slowly, a little taken aback by the curt but fitting description. “Shira Stein.”

_Oh,_ she mouths, before going back to swinging her legs. He wants to tell her to get off the hood of his car, and scold her for probably already damaging the polish, but she doesn’t give him the chance. 

“I had sex too, once. So, yeah.”

He looks at her in bewilderment, and then a chortle slips from his lips. It’s a little amusing, how sudden and unnecessary her statement is. 

“I didn’t need to know that,” he says, in between laughter, and she glares at him pointedly. 

“I figured you’d want to know.”

“Devi,” he exasperates, folding his lips into a straight line, before letting a gentle puff of air out. “Why would I want to know about your made up sex life?”

Her eyes widen almost immediately. “What did you just say?!” she shrieks, her hair flipping behind her shoulder as she whips around to face him. 

With a smug expression on his face, he pulls the gas pump out of the car’s hole, and turns to put it back in its place. “I said what I said. You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“What makes you think that, ninny? Is it cause you think I’m ugly? Or—”

“Slow down,” Ben interrupts her, waving his hands in the air. “No, okay? None of that. You’re just acting oddly defensive for someone who claims to be saying the truth. Plus, you use the phrase ‘rock one all night long’ _way_ too much for someone who’s done the nitty-gritty.”

She opens her mouth, as if she’s about to curse him out like a sailor, but then her stature deflates. “Fuck me,” she mutters, sliding off his car. 

“Wait, like, literally—”

“No, Gross, _not_ literally,” she snarls, glaring at him, and he chokes down a laugh. “If only I was banging hotties left and right.”

He stares at her, almost pitifully, as she kicks his front tire repeatedly, alternating between her two feet. Ben can’t even bring himself to scold her for damaging his property. 

“Trust me, you do _not_ want to be _'banging hotties left and right',_ ” he assures, sighing. When she doesn’t say anything, he leans his back against the side of the vehicle, crossing his arms. “Is sex more important to you than a real relationship?”

She lifts her head to look at him, desolation evident. “I haven’t done either, so how would I know?”

He scoffs. “Don’t bluff, you’ve definitely dated before.”

“Ryan from Math class in junior year doesn’t count, because it was more of a mutual agreement to make out whenever we felt lonely at parties,” she says, seeming lost in thought. “Thomas from my Econ class last year also doesn’t count, because it only lasted for a week before we broke it off.”

Ben hums in understanding. “Why have you always thirsted over Paxton so much?”

“I told you already. He’s good looking, nice. It’d be cool to bag one night with him.”

“Again, with the whole temporary thing,” he relents, tilting his head in a disapproving manner. “You don’t want to date him? At all?”

“No.” 

It’s the curtness of it that makes it believably honest, and he purses his lips, nodding. 

(Again, he’s a little relieved that she doesn’t actually like him—)

“Do you not see yourself in a relationship? Like, ever?” Ben questions, as his blue orbs meet her brown. 

“I don’t think I’m deserving enough of someone who chooses to love me long term,” she answers, with such bluntness that it makes his heart shatter a little. 

Her thoughts mirror his. After the disastrous excuse of a relationship he had with Shira, he became suspicious of any woman who tried to flirt with him. Him and Shira felt more like a PR stunt than anything, like she was only in it for his— or his _father’s_ money. And he knows it’s not only her fault, because he also used her for her popularity, and good looks. Nothing between them was genuine, and it was such a drag that it made Ben think no one would ever date him for who he was as a person. Not when he had such a big inheritance in his pockets. 

It’s surprising and unsurprising at the same time, how similar he is to Devi. They’re different in plenty aspects, which is a good enough reason as to why they argue all the time, but when they put their differences aside, the potential their conversations have to be pleasant is unsettling to think about.

“Sometimes I think the same way,” he responds earnestly, and she smiles at him, a little sadly. “But we have to believe it’s not true. Everyone in this world has someone they’ll find true love with. Maybe it’ll take days, months, or years to find them, but… they’re out there.”

“Or we’ve already met them,” she interjects, and a shiver shoots up his spine. “But who knows?”

“Who knows,” Ben repeats, and as Devi smirks at him while opening the door and sitting in the passenger seat, the tension between them crash lands just as fast as it took off. 

(He doesn’t know why his heart skips a beat every time she smirks at him now—)

Glancing down at his watch, he makes a note of the time. It’s four in the afternoon, marking eight hours into the car ride. 

Wait a minute.

They’re already far beyond the halfway mark, yet Ben hasn’t even noticed how much time has passed?

Devi peers through the window, knocking on it with her fist. “Get in!” she shouts, but it’s muffled by the rolled up window. 

It shouldn’t matter, it _really shouldn’t_ be this much of a deal to him, but the fact that time’s flying by so quickly by her side is more frightening than he’d like to admit. 

* * *

She bangs her head against the dashboard and springs up, smacking her lips and trying to keep her eyes open. 

It’s become a pattern. 

Ever since stopping at the gas station, she’s been dozing off, and every time, every _damn_ time, she falls forward onto the hard dashboard, and the impact to her skull wakes her up, until the cycle repeats. 

He wonders if she’s doing this on purpose, just to irk him, because it's working. 

“Devi,” he says, and repeats himself when she doesn’t listen. “Devi. Lean back.”

“No,” she murmurs drowsily, straightening her back, and it only takes seconds before she tilts forward once more. 

This time, Ben catches her with one of his hands, keeping the other on the steering wheel. His hand is an awkward position— it’s resting on her chest, and he’s careful to make sure it’s above the… other area nearby. 

Then, he pushes her back into the seat, and her head lolls as it thuds against the headrest. “Sleep,” he commands. She weakly turns her head to regard him. “I can’t,” she says. “Have to... have to stay awake…”

“Why do you need to stay awake?” he asks, and he knows he’s talking to a half-asleep Devi, but he questions her anyways. 

“Because… need to keep you… company,” she murmurs surreptitiously, and he immediately takes his hand back. 

He wonders whether she’s being sarcastic, but her tone is painfully direct. She’s also about to pass out into a deep slumber, so, maybe she’s just muttering random words that don’t mean anything. 

But the idea of her wanting to keep him company makes him feel a _little_ warm on the inside, even though he knows it shouldn’t. It feels wrong to feel this glad at hearing even the slightest bit of compassion from her directed towards him, but, it’s not really controllable. 

Then again, when were feelings _ever_ controllable?

"Company," is the last word she utters, before her eyes flutter shut and her mouth slightly parts open.

When the next red light comes, Ben takes the opportunity to use his free hands, and grabs her jacket strayed on the backseat, covering her body with leather material. 

He doesn’t know why he blushes when she drowsily mumbles a _thank you._

* * *

Ten hours into the ride, Devi jolts awake. 

It’s not the fact that she’s awake which scares Ben. It’s more the way she wakes up, all panicked and with bugged eyes, as if she’s woken up from a nightmare.

He doesn’t ask why. 

“Gross,” she whispers, before yawning. Her arms stretch out obnoxiously wide, and they almost smack him dead on the face. “Are we there yet?”

“No,” he replies with a following groan. “It’s 6 PM.” His fingers are starting to feel like jelly, his elbows have lost blood circulation, and he’s sure that if someone poked either of his legs, they’d shatter into a million pieces. 

He used to be a nervous driver. The type of new drivers that veered out of lanes by accident, and would panic every time they had to turn into a different street. Now, he’s none of that, but he’s never had to drive this far, and he's tired, so he keeps on missing turns and switching lanes at dangerous times. 

She rubs her eyes, and then spots her jacket that’s now sprawled on her lap. No words come out of her mouth, but he can tell she’s grateful when she turns to look at him with the sliver of a grin on her face. 

All of a sudden, it falls. 

“Ben,” she says. “Do you want me to drive?”

The weight of her words doesn't kick in until a few seconds after they’ve left her mouth. 

_“That’s asking too much from me. If I ever willingly drive this car just to make your life easier, then consider us friends,”_ was what she said hours ago. Is he reading too much into this, or is she actually...

“Are you— wait. For real? No way,” he sputters, eyes blown, and she laughs softly. 

“You seem tired. Plus, you’ve been driving for ten hours now,” she reasons, and runs a hand through her hair after yawning once again. “I’m also well rested, so…”

Ben yawns after she does, starting to feel a little drowsy. “No, but, does this mean…” He pauses talking to bring the car to the curb, and only continues after putting the vehicle in parking mode. “Does this mean that we’re…”

“Friends?” she finishes for him, and he nods hesitantly.

“Yeah. I think we are. We kinda always were,” she answers, a little cryptically, before climbing out of the car. 

Ben doesn’t bother getting out, and instead shifts onto the other seat while climbing over the gear lever. The shock of her words takes time to absorb, into his body and eventually his mind, but he's willing to wait.

If he's being honest, he's also partially doubting whether Devi can drive well or not, but before he can talk her out of it, she twists the key, starting the car up again. “Now, sleep,” she orders, bringing a hand over his eyes, and the last thing he smells is vanilla hand lotion, before everything goes black.

* * *

Ben wakes up with a prickly throat, pain subsiding once he swallows. 

“Awake already?” 

He turns his head, cheek pressed flush against the seat. His vision is still a little blurry, the sight of Devi’s hands on the steering wheel all he can focus on. Her side of the window is open, and so the wind blows, her curly hair flowing behind her, dangling earrings flailing all over the place. 

It's then he notices that she looks pretty today. 

(Actually, she always looks pretty, but today, he finds himself actually admitting it—)

“Yeah,” he croaks, voice still a little hoarse. “Did I sleep with my mouth open? My throat hurts.”

“I think you did,” she replies, while veering into the left lane. “You drool when you sleep too.”

His cheeks go crimson, the thought of her watching him drool unpleasant to think about. “Sorry,” is all he can choke out, and he tears his gaze off her. 

“It’s alright. Plus, you’re taking me to see Nick Jonas, so can’t really complain.”

_Oh._

_Oh god._

For a moment, he forgot what her true motive was— to see a celebrity. A certain celebrity. 

Who won’t be there. 

It’s not like he isn’t telling her on purpose— well, if he tells her the truth now, he's afraid she’ll throw him out of the car _while_ on the highway, especially now that she’s behind the wheel. 

Plus, he needs her to accompany him at the party. He needs a friend to impress his parents. 

But, more than any of these ulterior motives, he also knows that he’s enjoyed this car trip with her far more than he originally thought he would, and she seems to be in a good mood now, if the lack of insults shooting out of her mouth isn't enough evidence. He doesn't want to ruin that. 

It’s nice, whatever they have going on for them at the moment. 

“Can I ask you something?” she questions, and her voice sounds small, detached even. 

He nods. 

“Why do you need to take a friend to this party? I mean, it would have made more sense if you needed a fake girlfriend or something, but a _friend?_ ”

Ben swallows dryly. “Uh… it’s a long story.”

“Well, we have about two hours left, so that’s plenty of time.”

Answering that question means he’ll have to get personal, vulnerable, and _real—_ he hasn’t even opened up to Fab and El about his family life yet. All they know is that it’s terrible. 

But for some unknown reason, he figures, _why not,_ and braces himself before responding. 

“My parents are rich. You already know what field they work in,” he says, and she nods. “But growing up, because they were busy all the time, I never really got to spend time with them.”

“Like, only on weekends?”

“No,” he sighs, shaking his head. If his parents were at home for even two out of seven days from the week, that would have been more than enough. “Never. They were never home. Maybe once or twice in two weeks, they’d come home for an hour, max a day. I had one family dinner since freshman year, and I mean _high school_ freshman year.”

She finally blanches, gripping the wheel tighter. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Ben scoffs, running a hand through his hair as he stretches his cramped legs. “They were never home for my birthdays. They never showed up to my competitions, or science fairs. They didn’t even show up to my high school graduation.”

“Dude, that fucking sucks,” she exasperates, and he appreciates how she tries not to sound pitiful. 

“I know. Anyways, when they sent me this text last week, telling me that we were invited to Paul Rudd’s fucking birthday party, I thought, _hey, a chance to catch up with my parents!_ And then my dad said that he reserved an extra spot, so I could bring a friend,” he pauses to chew on his bottom lip. “See, the thing is, when I was in high school, my only two friends from elementary kind of… forgot about me?”

She motions for him to go on. 

“And so in high school, I was practically friendless. I mean, Shira’s friends kind of became my friends, but they were terrible. To be fair, mostly everyone were stuck up private school kids. I really didn’t have anyone to talk to, and I felt like that was the perception my parents had of me. That I was a friendless, loser, nobody at school. And the only reason I tried so hard with my grades while growing up was to impress my parents, so, whenever my parents would ask me how my friends were doing, and I’d tell them that I had none… I felt like I was practically _giving_ them reasons not to spend time with me.”

“Ben,” she begins, in a sorry tone. “That’s not true.”

“So, in uni, I managed to make friends… and I was so proud of myself. I told my father over text, and, I don’t know, but it seemed like he was impressed. So that’s why I was so hyper over this whole _‘I need a friend to bring to this birthday party’_ , because I don’t want to seem like a friendless loser in front of my parents again.”

“I’m sure your parents love you regardless,” she says. “But I get your motive now.”

“That’s why I was so panicked when El said she couldn’t come with me last minute. Cause, my dad messaged me yesterday saying he’s super excited to see my new friend, and I can’t just suddenly show up _without_ one. It’s a bad look,” he explains, and she makes an _ah_ sound while nodding. 

“Well, now you have me,” she says, smirking. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

He laughs, but this time it’s more genuine, more soft. “Thank you for coming, David.”

“I did it for Nick,” she quips, while slowly pressing her foot on the brakes. “Thank him.”

He ignores the pang of guilt that knocks the breath out of his lungs every time she brings up Nick Jonas. In his head, he was planning to have told her by now. But then again, he doesn’t want to face her fury, doesn’t want to ruin things, because as much as he likes bickering with Devi, he also likes it when they’re nice to one another.

“Why did you stop the car?” he asks, as she climbs into the backseat and digs through her backpack, pulling out her red dress. 

“We have to change,” she answers, and before he knows it, her fingers are clumsily grabbing onto the hem of her shirt, as she slips it off. 

He turns his head and slaps a hand over his eyes before he can ogle, groaning. 

“Devi, what the _fuck,_ ” he grits out, trying to ignore how heated his face feels. 

“Don’t turn back, I’m changing,” she responds.

“Yeah, no shit! Couldn't you have warned me before taking off your shirt?”

“Oh please, you pussy. I’m wearing a tank top underneath,” she says while grunting, and he can hear a rustling in the back as she struggles to wear the long outfit. He thanks the Lord that his Porsche has tinted windows. 

“Are you done?” he asks, hand still glued onto the front of his face. 

“Almost,” she answers, and then after a few seconds, she adds on with, “Yeah, I’m done.”

A puff of air escapes from his lips in relief, and he pries his fingers off, eyes crinkling at the brightness surrounding him. “Do you really expect me to change into a suit and tie in the backseat of a Porsche—”

_Oh._

She carefully climbs back into the driver’s seat, fully dressed. The red laced fabric fits her body snugly, accentuating her hourglass figure. 

_Fuck,_ Ben thinks. _She really does look good in red._

Devi stares at him expectantly, and it’s then that he remembers he was in the middle of a sentence, but what he was saying is long forgotten. 

“Well, if you’re not going to finish your sentence,” she then shifts around. “Can you help me with this?”

He shuts his eyes almost habitually, at the sight of her bare back. “With... what?”

She sighs. “With hooking these clips.”

Ben doesn't respond. 

"Oh, come on," she groans. "You're twenty one years old, not even a virgin. Don't act all shy now."

He swallows nervously, and lets his eyes flutter open as he grabs the bottom hook, pulling it closer to the other side of the opening. His fingers graze over her bare skin, on accident, and he’s not sure if he’s imagining the way her breath hitches under his touch. 

With much effort, he makes his way up to the top hook, and once it’s all done, she turns around, muttering a half-assed thank you, her gaze thrown far away from him. 

Neither of them acknowledge how the tips of their ears have become the same shade as her dress. 

* * *

After thirteen hours, Ben switches with Devi, and he takes over driving once more, as he drives through the security packed driving lot of the hall.

She gasps at how big everything looks from the outside, and even he’s a little intimidated by how grand everything is. I mean, this _is_ a celebrity’s birthday party they’re attending. Suddenly, his own mansion back home doesn't seem so spacious anymore.

“Where do you think I’ll find Nick Jonas?” is the first thing Devi asks once Ben opens the car door for her, and she slips her hand into his while carefully climbing out in short stumped heels. 

He laughs nervously. “Um, probably, uh… somewhere.”

“I’ll just ask around,” she says, while shrugging, and her tone is so nonchalant that it’s scary. 

“What if he’s not here? Like, what if he didn’t show up?”

“Nonsense,” she tuts. “If he’s not here, I’ll literally kill myself. I mean, a thirteen hour long car ride, with you, for nothing?”

“Hey, I thought we’re friends now,” he blurts out, and she snorts. 

“I mean, yeah, but still. The main reason I agreed to come here is to get his autograph,” she states, and then her eyes flicker down to their hands, which are still intertwined. 

She stares at it for a while, and then evens her expression, before slowly pulling away and bringing her arms close to her side. “Let’s go,” she says, but now her tone sounds a little choked up. 

His anxiety only grows by the second, at the thought of her eventually finding out he's lied, but he fakes a smile anyway, and motions for her to take the lead. 

The inside of the hall somehow seems bigger than the outside. There are chandeliers hanging every five metres from the high ceiling, towering over them. Beautiful renaissance era paintings span the walls, and the whole vibe exuding from the place feels like they’ve been transported to the nineteenth century. 

There are multiple people around them, prominently older, and dressed much more fancier, and he can tell by the way Devi stiffens that she feels severely under dressed. So, he places a hand over the small of her back, and says, “You look good tonight.”

Her mouth is slightly agape, as she stares at him disbelievingly. Then, something unknown to him in her eyes glint. “You do too,” she replies, and he’s well aware her compliment is probably just out of courtesy, but the way her lips tug up into a genuine smile makes him want to believe otherwise. 

They walk into the main party hall with held breaths, overwhelmed by how fancy everything is. There are too many people he doesn’t recognize, but they’re all dressed in such expensive apparel that he’s pretty sure half of them are probably famous, in some way or another.

“Okay, I’m gonna go find Nick. Wish me luck,” she whispers into his ear, but before she can go off, Ben grabs her arm. 

“What?” she asks, over her shoulder. 

“You can’t leave me,” he hisses. 

“Why?”

He pauses, the answer to his question seeming a little fuzzy. The truth is, he just doesn’t want to risk spending the night without her presence by his side, but there is also another reason. Another, better, safer, less awkward reason. 

“I need to introduce you to my parents, remember? The reason why I brought you here,” he says, through gritted teeth, and she deflates, patting his shoulder. 

“I’ll come back in time,” she responds, and he’s confident she’s going to leave, but then she stops. “And don’t worry, Nick Jonas won’t steal me away from you.” 

He watches as she struts away, choking out a chuckle. She’s joking of course, but again, the suggestiveness of it makes his heart race a little. 

_God,_ what is happening?

Ben opens his phone, making sure the table he’s standing near is the right one his family's been reserved. He looks around, with hawk eyes, as he scans the room for a familiar bush of grey hair, and a petite, blonde haired stature. 

He opens the Messages app, fingers flying over the keyboard as he types out a _where are you Dad,_ and hits send seconds after. Stuffing the device back in his pocket, he saunters over the the bar station, clicking his tongue as he goes over the array of options. 

“Sir, what would you like? Everything’s free, by the way,” A lady asks, and he can tell she’s a little confused as to what his age is (he has a part stubble and he’s definitely grown taller since his high school days, but he _is_ only twenty-one). 

“I’d like orange juice,” he orders, deciding to steer away from asking for an alcohol laced drink despite being of legal age, saving himself from the trouble of proving his age with ID. 

She fills his cup up astonishingly quickly, handing it to him, and he takes it from her enthusiastically. After a tentative first sip, he immediately winces at how cold the drink is. 

“Ben!”

He swivels around, his dress shoes squeaking against the freakishly clean floor, and his expression immediately brightens at seeing Devi in front of him. “David, you’re back. Thank god,” he says. 

She doesn’t respond, just stares him down quietly. 

Ben clears his throat. “Uh… have you seen Paul Rudd yet? I mean, can you believe that it’s his birthday yet he’s _nowhere_ to be seen?”

She clenches her jaw. “Why did you lie to me?”

His heart drops to his feet. 

“About— about what?” he stammers, tripping over his words, and _holy fuck,_ why is it getting harder and harder to feed her his stupid fib?

“About Nick Jonas being here,” she begins, forehead crinkled. “He’s not here.”

Ben giggles nervously, taking another gulp of his orange juice to buy himself some time to think. How can he possibly get out of this messy situation?

“I told you, he might not show up. The guy’s probably busy at home—”

“Again. You’re lying to me _again,_ ” she exasperates, her voice breaking. “Tell me why, when I asked multiple security guards and random guests about where Nick Jonas was coming, they all looked at me like I have two fucking heads?”

Ben groans. “You did _what?_ Why would you ask around about something like that?”

She takes a step closer, her hands scrunching up the bottom of her dress. “Do you know how _embarrassed_ I feel right now? You lied to me!” 

Her volume is getting a little dangerously loud, and various heads turn to where they are, as they watch either annoyed or curiously. 

“Devi,” he breathes out, shaky. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

“Why did you lie to me?” She pokes his shoulder aggressively, heaving. “Why?”

He sighs, face heating up. “Because I wanted to make you jealous, okay? You sounded so unbothered by me being invited to Paul Rudd’s birthday party that I wanted to make your blood boil! So I lied. How was I supposed to know you’d beg to come with me just to see Nick Jonas? I thought you hated me, okay? How was I supposed to know?”

Devi stands frozen, eyes blown wide. “If I didn’t hate you before, I hate you now for sure,” she grits out, and it’s like a gunshot that fires through Ben's chest. 

Before, an _'I hate you'_ coming from her mouth wouldn’t hurt that much, but now…

It hurts.

It fucking hurts. 

“Why the fuck are you being so dramatic, this isn't even a big deal—”

“Ben! Oh my fucking god, shut up. Shut up!” Now, her volume has captured the attention of almost everyone nearby, and it’s a little humiliating. 

“I sat in a car for thirteen hours just to see him,” Devi drags a palm across her face, shaking her head as her eyes flicker to the floor. “But that’s not even why I’m upset right now. I’m upset because you _lied_ to me,” she lashes out, and the betrayal in her voice is dripping out like lava, burning him. 

“You didn’t bother to tell me the truth once in the car, not _once._ I just feel stupid.”

“Devi, I'm sorry—”

“No. No more,” she murmurs, and then her gaze lands on the cup in his hand. 

Before he can even make a move to prevent it, she yanks the glass out of his hand and splashes the remaining juice on him. By the time someone nearby offers him a tissue, and he cleans the juice off his face, she’s already gone. 

As if the moment couldn’t get worse, his phone buzzes in his back pocket. Orange juice is still dripping down the collar of his white shirt and his black suit over it, while he pulls the device out, his father’s response much more important right now.

For a second, the thought of his parents witnessing this whole disaster of a situation passes his mind, and his throat dries up. 

**Dad:** _Bubelah_

**Dad:** _I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you that your Mom and I had a last minute change of plans—_

He doesn’t bother reading the rest, instead just jabs the phone icon and brings his phone close to his ear. 

_“Ben?”_

He's surprised he even picked up. 

“Dad. Why didn’t you text me this morning? Or tell me that you weren’t coming?”

_“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting it but a client needed me urgently—”_

“Your son needs you more. Have you ever, for once in your life, put me before your work?” he blurts out, and the guests lounging around bring their attention to him once more— though he doesn’t let the unwanted attention derail his anger. 

_“Bubelah, come on. I can’t skip out on such a big client for a birthday party,”_ his father pleads, and it only makes him even more furious.

“Why don’t you get it? I don’t need you to come to this party just for me. The least you could have done was told me before I left for this thirteen hour long drive just to see you. Now I can't even feel my toes,” Ben spits out, gripping his phone so tight he’s afraid that the device will bend in his hold. 

Silence.

“You told me yesterday night that you were _'s_ _o excited'_ to see this friend of mine. What am I supposed to tell her? That my parents bailed out last minute without even giving me a warning?”

_“I’m sorry, we really are sorry,”_ he begs, but Ben can immediately tell it’s not genuine. He feels betrayed, humiliated even, at the thought of all this being for nothing. 

He wonders if this is how Devi felt when she learned of his lie.

“No. No, you’re not. If you really are sorry, if you really do love me as much as you claim to, then none of this would be happening right now. Do you think I give a fuck about his birthday? Why do you think I bothered to come here?” Ben prods, and his eyes start to sting a little. “I came here to catch up with you guys, in person. To eat dinner with _you guys,_ to sit at the same table and talk in person for once. Yet you never show up, like always.”

He hears his father sigh over the line. _“What do you want? Money? A new car? How can I make it up to you?”_ he placates, and his son scoffs.

“The next time you promise to do something, _actually_ go through with it,” he answers, with ease, and then says, “Goodnight, Dad,” before cutting the call. 

The rich adults around eyeball him disapprovingly, and it’s then that he remembers he’s still drenched in orange juice. He rolls his eyes and runs out the hall, hearing murmurs about _kids being loud like usual_ before making his way out.

The air outside is chilly, and it offers some cooling to his flushed skin. Sitting down on the concrete stairs, he takes one breath in, and one breath out, trying to calm himself down, but it doesn’t work. He’s still furious, upset, hurt, betrayed— and it doesn't help that he reeks of citrus. 

He wishes Devi was here. 

Whenever he was having a bad day, arguing with her always took his mind off things. It was mindless bantering when it came to her, and her witty insults forced the gears in his brain to actually run in an effort to retort back with just as good, if not better comebacks. 

So, if he was having a bad morning, he’d trail into Criminal Law and purposely point how chunky Devi’s shoes looked that day, before smugly taking a seat beside her. That’s all it took for her to get riled up. 

But he’s messed things up with her, _majorly._

He’s fought with her one too many times for their own good, but this time, it’s different. Back then, all their conversations were mainly just playful bickering, but this fight felt much more real. It held much more meaning, because he’s actually hurt her. Even if it's over something insanely stupid, over Nick fucking Jonas not being here, he's hurt her. He's hurt her by lying.

Because now, they’re finally starting to admit that they mean something to one another. 

“Busy wallowing, Gross?”

He perks up immediately. 

The sound of her footsteps trails closer from behind, before she carefully takes a seat next to him, positioning her dress so that it doesn’t get caught underneath her heels. 

They sit there, silently, staring at the crescent moon. 

“Waning gibbous,” she mutters, sounding disappointed. “Too bad it’s not a full moon.”

“Waning gibbous?” he asks, confused. 

She nods. “It’s a phase of the moon. Did they not teach you this stuff in fifth grade?”

Ben lifts his head up to face the sky, observing the shape of the moon now that Devi's pointed it out. “I think I’ve just forgotten everything,” he admits. 

“I heard what happened.”

His gaze drops to the floor, and he can feel her gaze searing through his face. “What… what do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t know what happened, but when I came back from the bathroom, people were whispering about a young boy about to cry while getting off the phone, and I kinda just assumed it was you. Cause, you know, everyone around us is _hag_ age.”

“Devi,” he gasps, shaking his head in bewilderment. “ _Hag_ age? Seriously?”

“What? That isn’t inherently a bad thing. You can be old and still hot,” she retorts, and Ben sighs. 

“Yes, that was me. The sad young boy.”

Her smile drops. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? I’m sorry I threw orange juice on you,” she begins in an extremely guilt-ridden tone. “I overreacted, I really did.”

He shakes his head, finally turning to look at her. “Although it was a little embarrassing, especially in front of all those high class people... being splashed with my own drink isn’t why I’m out here. It’s my parents.”

She raises an eyebrow, curiously. “What happened?”

“They’re not coming. Apparently they were never coming,” he says, and watches as her eyes go wide. “Didn’t even bother telling me before we left.”

“What the… that’s such a shitty move!”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs, kicking a rock with his shoe. “Extremely shitty.”

Devi glowers. “I'm sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault my parents don’t care about me. It’s more of mine, really.” He turns to look at her. “I’m undeserving of anything more from them.”

Her face crinkles up almost immediately. “The fuck? That’s not true,” she argues, sounding genuinely angry.

“It is. This isn't the first time, you know, that something like this has happened. At my Bar Mitzvah, I saw Blake Griffin more times than my own parents. The morning of my fifth grade science fair, they told me they’d be there, but they never showed up.”

Devi quiets, lips pulled into a genuine, non-condescending pout. “How often?”

“Too many times. I’ve lost count,” he sighs. “They try to make up for things by buying me clothes, or getting me an autograph, but I don’t fucking care about superficial things like that. Something like a hug, or a family dinner would be nice. But that’s asking too much from them.”

“You deserve much better,” she says, and Ben feels a burst of dopamine flow through his nerves at her sweet words. 

She studies his expression once, before reaching her arm out, tentatively brushing the pads of her fingers against the back of his hand. Ben turns it upwards, and she slowly presses her palm against his, as their fingers intertwine.

Her skin is warm and comforting.

“Isn’t it a little funny? We both embarked on this long ass ride for two different motives. I wanted to see Nick Jonas, you wanted to meet your parents… and neither Nick or your parents ended up being here.”

“I guess,” he mumbles, with a bewildered laugh following close behind. “I guess that is a little funny. _Tragically_ funny.”

“I don’t think the ride ended up being for nothing, though,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand, and his eyes flit to hers, a little taken aback by the touchiness. “Spending thirteen hours with you wasn’t as terrible as I thought it would be.”

“I agree,” he blurts out without a second thought, and watches as she shyly smiles. Her eyes are big and brown, reflecting the moonlight, and he sort of wishes he had any artistic ability, so he could paint the way she looks right now, have it on paper to keep this moment alive even after it's passed.

Devi leans her head against his shoulder, strands of her curly hair tickling his cheek. It’s weird, how this should be foreign to them, but it feels so right, the way she perfectly fits into his side. The way he feels better just by talking to her. The way his heart keeps on racing whenever she smiles at him, whenever she compliments him. 

“What does this mean?” he whispers, gliding his thumb across the back of her hand, and she lifts her head to regard him, curiously.

“What does _what_ mean?”

“This,” He waves his free hand in the air around them, referring to whatever weirdly intimate position they’re in right now.

She hums, in thought, before saying, “We have plenty of time to figure that out.”

Ben snorts. “Like the thirteen hour drive back to campus?”

“Oh my god,” she exasperates, straightening her back with wide eyes. “I can't believe I never took the return trip into account. Are you really going to drive in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah, done it before once. I was shadowing at a law firm, and ended up having to drive back to my dorm at three in the morning. It wasn’t fun,” he says, as he pulls her up onto her feet. 

"We're leaving already? You don't want an autograph from Paul Rudd?"

He scoffs. "Nah, I can always get one another time."

She rolls her eyes, laughing in bewilderment, because she knows he's right.

Once they find his car amidst the packed, huge parking lot (Devi groans, clearly tired from walking in her heels), Ben unlocks all the doors, and they plop down into their seats. 

He starts the car engine, and the first thing she does is turn on the radio. _“_ _Where the brave are free and lovers soar, come ride with me to the distant shore,”_ Tom Cochrane sings, the song reverberating in the compact space. 

“What are you doing?” Ben asks, glaring, but he’s smiling at the same time.

“I’m putting music on so you don’t fall asleep behind the wheel,” she responds, while taking her heels off and throwing them onto the backseat.

“Still don’t trust me enough to stay awake?”

“Better to be safe than sorry.” Then, she eyeballs him.

“What?” he squints in confusion.

“Are you not gonna change?” she asks, pointing to his orange stained outfit, and he shakes his head while sighing. 

“Nope,” he says, peeling off his suit, leaving him only in his white collared button up. “I’m too lazy. Plus, it’s dried up already.”

He throws an arm over the back of the passenger seat, looking behind him while backing out of the parking space. 

“What a weird ass day,” she mutters, before humming along with the song, and Ben chuckles. 

What a weird ass day indeed.

_“Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long… If you’re going my way, I wanna drive it all night long...”_

* * *

Devi stays with her mother and cousin back home in Sherman Oaks for the rest of Spring Break. Ben spends the rest of his break lazing around with Paxton, who’s returned from visiting his sister's apartment in Vegas. He also hangs out with Fab and El, of course, who are back from their trips (El's tanned and her smile glows every time she teases him about Devi).

Devi and him text and video call. A lot.

Their conversations start in the afternoon and continue on till the evening, and it's full of variety. In one day, they go from debating over whether a bag of popcorn is healthier than a foot-long sub, to talking about their messed up family lives, to watching movies together on _Rave._ See? Variety.

Chatting with her only makes him miss her more.

He likes to pretend otherwise, but when he goes to sleep, he thinks about her. 

_Devi._

When he wakes up, he thinks about her.

_Devi._

He doesn’t know what she is to him, really— she passed out on the ride back home almost five minutes in, and he managed to groggily stay awake, of course, taking breaks in between— so they never really got to, quote unquote, _figure it out,_ on the way back.

The Sunday before classes start, Paxton knocks Ben's head with a pillow, successfully waking him up. 

“Devi’s back,” he says. 

Ben subconsciously smiles, dropping it immediately after noticing Paxton's wiggling eyebrows. “Why would it matter to me?”

Paxton smiles knowingly. “Really? You talk about the trip with her, like, every day since I've been back. Plus, you're always smiling like a creep when you text her.”

The blue eyed boy rolls his eyes, trying to play it cool, even though he knows his roommate is right. "Have you been seeing things? Taken too many shrooms?"

"Oh please," Paxton scoffs. "I saw this coming ever since the first day of your orientation. You couldn't shut up about her then, and you can't shut up about her now. You're the only one who's been blind to it."

“Stop talking,” he murmurs, poking his chiseled shoulder. “Or I’ll tell El that you find her cute.”

Paxton gasps, and then brings his arms up in surrender. 

Ben resolves to talk to Devi in class tomorrow, because he doesn't want to seem desperate or anything, since he totally _isn't_. Isn't desperate to see her at all. Nope.

* * *

His so called _resolve_ crumbles the second nine o’clock hits, when he finds himself standing in front of dorm room number 1709.

His fist hovers in front of the door, before knocking on the wooden surface, once, and then twice. 

This time, when he hears shuffling from behind the door, it opens immediately.

“Gross,” she sighs, and it’s a much more welcoming greeting than her usual housekeeper facade to chase him away. Ben grins, glad at seeing her face after so long. 

Here's the thing though— he doesn’t know what to say. I mean, what exactly _does_ one say in this moment that won’t sound weird and/or creepy? _I missed you? I needed to see your face? I wanted to talk to you?_

Then, her smile drops in a second, as disappointment flashes through her face. “You’re here for Fab and El, aren’t you? They’re out buying some things from the store—”

“I’m not here for them,” he blurts out, and watches as her forehead crinkles in confusion. “I’m here to see you.”

Devi widens her eyes, as her lips tug up into an adorable smile. "In need of a sexy acquaintance again, Gross? Fake girlfriend this time?" she teases, her gaze challenging him.

Ben thins his lips into a straight line. "Well," he begins bravely, blood rushing up to his head. "Maybe we could talk about the _fake_ part. Seems a little unnecessary, don't you think so?"

Nothing is spoken between them, as the two stare at each other with bugged eyes and tinted cheeks, until Devi takes a step back, pulling the door wide open.

“Well then,” she says, holding back a grin. “What are you waiting for? Come on in. Let's talk this out.”

"Wait," Ben mutters, and Devi freezes. "I'm no Nick Jonas. Just warning you."

She looks at him incredulously, before laughing. "I'm glad," she replies. "Now will you come in before I shut the door on your face? Let's talk about this, shall we? Before one of us pussies out like always."

He grins, the tips of his ears rosy red. "Talk we shall," he responds.

Talk they shall.

**Author's Note:**

> songs played on radio:  
> \- old town road by billy cyrus & lil nas x  
> \- what is love by haddaway  
> \- thinking out loud by ed sheeran  
> \- life is a highway by tom cochrane
> 
> if u like being extra specific, the episode of the office devi is watching is season 4, ep 4, titled 'money' :D
> 
> tysm for reading lol <3 if u enjoyed this mess of a oneshot, it would make me very happy if you could leave kudos, or even a comment if you're feeling ambitious (i always reply!) <3 bye bye :D


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